


What a Difference Two Weeks Makes…

by MiseryLovesMe32



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: 'Pin yourself to the wall' origin, Bottom Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, I imagine they'd switch but not in this fic, In more ways than one, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Poor Agent Stone, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Robotnik is a bit slow to realise.... feelings, Robotnik is a pushy touch-starved bottom, Stone is not complaining, Stone really does deserve a holiday, he needs him, pre-sonic, top agent stone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiseryLovesMe32/pseuds/MiseryLovesMe32
Summary: The only time Agent Stone handed in his notice... (And Robotnik comes to a few conclusions in his absence...)
Relationships: Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik & Agent Stone, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 10
Kudos: 212





	What a Difference Two Weeks Makes…

**Author's Note:**

> I overanalysed the 'Pin yourself against the wall' scene and wanted to know the possible origin. It has definitely happened a few times before but wanted to explore the first time.
> 
> I like the idea that Robotnik created Alexa... and didn't like it xD
> 
> The title is a play on the song What A Difference A Day Made by Dinah Washington :)

The white envelope greeted Doctor Robotnik first thing Saturday morning. Laid upon his dashboard with a steaming latte placed upon it. A parting gift, it seemed, as with eloquent, cursive handwriting upon the cup, it said, “I’m sorry.”  
Stone had taken his two-week mandatory holiday, which he previously had ignored and continued working by Robotnik’s side. But this year, and at the very beginning of it, handed in his two-week notice. 

“No matter,” Robotnik had said to himself, dismissive. “I don’t need him. Never did. Still don’t. This ship sails itself.”

Except it didn’t. Not anymore.

It only took two days for problems to arise and begin to pile up.

Stone daily writes progress reports to keep the government chumps happy and off the Doctor's back, so he’s not disturbed or questioned. The Doctor knew this, between Stone doing other chores and errands he perceived a drunken monkey could do, and could therefore leave him to it without much disaster or disruption to his much more important work.  
However, the badniks, his beautiful babies, can't do this. This seemingly easy task. Despite inputting all of Stone's previous notes and studying them himself to adjust accordingly, the restricted AI machines can’t quite get the hang of putting across an email to persuade some brick-for-brains government officials to leave him alone. 

The phone won't stop ringing and the emails keep flooding in.

It's distracting to say the least.

This also brings to realisation that the Pentagon will know Stone has handed in his notice, required to submit one to them as well, and this means only one thing… they will send another glorified babysitter his way. Imminently. 

One more disturbance banging at his door.

Stone had been with him two years. Before him, Robotnik had gone through, without fail, an agent per quarter since working for the US government. That’s twelve years of running ragged forty-eight of the Army’s finest and driving them to exhaustion. They couldn't keep up, not even close. 

But Stone had. Despite the Doctor's many efforts, _actual_ efforts to be rid of the perpetually smiling and insufferably cheerful bastard, he’d survived. 

Until one week ago. 

A bolt of anger shoots through Robotnik, hair dishevelled and eyes dark, jaw locked tight. “How dare he.”

He stomps over to his dash, fingertips sliding and stabbing at the touchscreen until a ringing tone commences. 

“Doctor?”

“What’s your reasoning?”

“Sir?”

“Why did you quit?!”

“Sir, I stated in my resignation...”

Robotnik paused. He hadn’t actually read the letter, only the first paragraph saying of his departure and thanks for having the opportunity. He hadn’t cared beyond that. And thrown it in the bin. Good riddance. What did it matter why?

Well apparently it did now.

It takes less than fifteen seconds for him to reach the scanned copy of Stone’s notice buried in the Pentagon database. And another ten seconds for him to get to the reason he’d forgone the first time. _'Emotionally compromised.'_

The Doctor pauses on those two words. Those two small words. And what they mean. The Doctor’s hearing forgets itself entirely and doesn’t catch Stone trying to explain…

Robotnik hangs up. 

His robots can't make lattes. Or they can but something seems off. The nutty aroma? The unjoyful delivery? The dependable taste? No matter the changes he makes in calibrations or even ingredients – and no matter what milk, they don’t taste the same, don’t taste right as when Stone had made them. 

He starts drinking tea.

He has no one to insult and berate without making them cry and run off. There’s no one to cross examine his ideas with. No one to explain his progress and genius to. No one to talk to. No one to even share this frustration with. 

His robots can hear but they can’t comprehend…

Robotnik finds Stone’s new residence within half a minute of looking and sends a badnik to confirm he’s in via a closed window. A second-floor apartment and an hour’s drive away, and unfortunately, he can’t just park the jet in the suburbs of DC. 

A storm is coming. 

The wind whips and curls Dr. Robotnik’s coattails in a frenzy as he stands on the stoop. Bell rung and frustration growing every second the buzzer is not answered and he is thrashed with mother nature…

The door cracks open, Stone on the other side. Blurry-eyed, sleepy. “Sir? Wh-?”

“Apparently, you’ve gone deaf in the two weeks you’ve been out of my service.” Robotnik barging through. “Your neighbour had to let me in.”

“I was sleeping, I’m so-”

“So glad one of us has found some peace, unfortunately it’s not ME!”

Stone flinches. Physically flinches at the outburst.

Robotnik ignores the oddity in Stone’s behaviour. Out of character. _'He’s never cringed before at my yelling.'_ He stomps further into the small but homely space. Stone has already lent his warmth and charm to this place... that is now vacant from his labs.

Robotnik’s stride suddenly stops, halting in the middle of the room, noticing a small device on the mantelpiece in front of him.

Stone’s eyes widen, panicking. “Sir…”

The Doctor plucks the round ball from its standing and inspects it. Yes, this is most definitely his prototype. A failed one. One he had thought he’d wiped all evidence of and destroyed, yet here it sits in his gloved hand. The government had of course liked it, had been astounded by its clever ability to listen, repeat, and follow instruction - seemingly to help, to be a part of the family, while also being a rather clever storage database of personal data for the government to use at will. It also played music on command. 

However, Robotnik had hated it. Thought it juvenile and unrefined even for his first drafts, so he’d scrapped it and started again. 

But Stone had kept it. Even given it a place to sit where normally family photos would be. 

“This tech is not your property, Stone. And it does not work.”

“No, it doesn’t. You made sure of that, sir. But, but it's sentimental. It was…”

_Two years ago. His first week. First invention. With Robotnik._

Stone catches just the edge of the older man’s scrutinising one and he swallows, a lump forming in his throat.

Robotnik replaces the black ball onto its stand, coolly, calmly, and then he turns. Slow. 

The room is dim, lit only with shadows but Stone can feel those eyes on him. Those unforgiving, judgmental, always analysing orbs. He shivers.

“Pin yourself to the wall, Stone.”

Stone pauses, feels he’s misheard. “Sir?”

“Do it!!”

And Stone does, no further repetition required. Pressing his hand near to his clavicle, he retreats a few steps back until he meets the hard surface behind him.

Then the Doctor is right there in his face, not a breath apart. “You think this is acceptable? That you can just excuse yourself from my employ with a note? A note!” 

Stone gulps, difficult around the lump now lodged in his throat. Of emotion. Of something he shouldn’t be feeling but has been for months. Towards his boss and a man who is out of reach on many levels…

Robotnik sneers. “After two years with me, you think you can just leave it at that and expect it to be fine! Everything to just continue on?! Pitiful. Disrespectful. Insolent... how dare you!” The last words ground out between gritted teeth.

The wind howls outside, sways the trees beyond the window, but Stone can only hear the beating of his heart in his ears and in the thumping of his chest. He’d wanted to avoid this. He’s a triple-A rated service agent with a lurid history, but this was different than off-the-books assassinations and under-the-table fixes. Emotions of any kind were always messy, always compromising... usually to the client. 

Stone squeezes his eyes shut. The thought of losing the Doctor... 

“I'm distracted and therefore inefficient, sir.” Stone’s gaze locks with the Doctor’s. He’s not ashamed of this, he just doesn’t want to be a disappointment like so many before him. Wants to be a reliable, stalwartly rock for the older man to always depend on, but as it stands he can’t. Someone will get hurt. “I can't do that to you and your work, sir. I only want what's best for you.” He breathes, shakily. “Your robots will take up my place, they can do all the things I do without any weakness or fault. Your robots are diligent, relentless, and do not feel. But I do, sir. I do.”

“So you quit because you're weak and pathetic?”

“Yes, sir. For you, sir.”

Robotnik inhales unsteady, almost imperceptible, but an angry response, pre-programmed and innate of the man, is already spilling from his mouth. “Idiot. Fool. Imbecile. Utter waste of skin...” But the Doctor trails off at the sudden aching sadness staring back at him, that he can neither deny nor refute. Stone’s inner turmoil unrepentant in bubbling to the surface. He’s not on the job anymore. Doesn’t have to hide it anymore. It’s right there for the Doctor to see. Plainly. Undeniably. And a single tear brimming and threatening to fall anchors the torment, and Robotnik finds he can’t bear it. Can hardly stand its existence…

He leans forward that inch, that breath of a distance and presses his mouth to Stone’s.

With a fistful of the man’s nightshirt, lips continuing to occupy and entertain the younger man within his grasp, Robotnik directs them both to the bedroom. Process of elimination and a matter of architecture as he toes off his shoes on the way. And the badnik had identified Stone sleeping in that exact room, tucked up and wrapped in a thin sheet. Which the Doctor now lays Stone upon with the right amount of force. No argument. No fuss. This is the way it will be.

Robotnik looms over the agent, his agent, ex-agent... he growls and bites into the next kiss, harsh with his mouth and teeth, pushing the younger man further into the sheets and pillows with his own weight, straddling the man’s waist - long lean thighs spread over Stone’s lap and where they will stay for the duration of this tryst. 

His hands pull and tear at Stone’s nightshirt. “Remove this. It won’t be needed.”

“Yes, sir.” Leaning up and freeing himself of the article of clothing, he then reaches for the Doctor, fingers to the back of his head, fingertips shifting into the dark locks of glorious hair.

“Stone, do you want this?” Robotnik realising he should’ve asked sooner, and must ask before this truly goes any further…

And the younger man beneath him pauses. Incredulous. “How could...? You unbelievably stupid man.” And with a sharp tug of hair brings the Doctor’s mouth back to his. Verbal protests from the man above about his intelligence muffled.

...Robotnik hasn’t succumb to such base needs in over two decades. And before then, when he was a teenager. Both were mistakes. Stupid folly. The first hormones. The second desperation. But this time... this time... his breath hitches…

Stone’s hands are steady at the Doctor’s hips, less guiding and more holding on as Robotnik rocks and grinds to a pace and rhythm that frankly has Stone helpless and in complete awe. As per usual with his view of the Doctor. With everything and anything he does, it’s with precision and purpose, dedication and singlemindedness... Though the lack of physical contact had shown, the Doctor so sensitive, and the uncomfortable first rise and fall even with preparation - a hiss and grind of teeth. However, it soon faded to raw need and unabashed drive, and barely contained whimpers. 

Stone’s glorious hands nursing his hips and soothing the curve of his spine, not gripping, not possessive but encouraging only spurred Robotnik to harden his efforts. He wasn’t used to kindness. Understanding. Tenderness. He didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. He didn’t need... “Stone?”

“I’m here, sir. I’m here. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He goes to protest, goes to reject... but Stone pulls him into a devastating kiss, holding him to the moment and thrusts up, and then again... and oh just right... oh so right... right there... And Robotnik is lost, coming undone in Stone’s arms. Shaking apart.

......

Coat adjusted, Robotnik goes to leave. Not a hair out of place. “You'll report to my office and renege on your resignation. Be in my office in four hours, Agent Stone.” He turns to the man still in bed. In tangled, ruined sheets, and resting back against the headboard. “Or this time _I_ will fire you. Permanently.”

“On one condition.”

“There are no conditions-”

“Once a month. Once a month, we have a night like this.”

Robotnik goes to refuse. To get angry. Gloved fists balling…

“Just once a month to have you, Doctor. Please.”

He'd already stolen his breath once that evening and somehow Agent Stone had done it again. This time without touch. He loathed it. Despised it. Weakness.

“Fine. But that's all you get. Once a month. And _I_ initiate. End of.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Three hours and fifty-eight minutes, Stone. Back to work.”

Epilogue

It's not easy. 

Despite Robotnik’s words, Stone has to initiate any want for affection, remind the Doctor of their agreement. Or so it seems. Usually right at the cut-off point of the month, frustration high, achingly desperate, with a touch to the Doctor's wrist. At the sliver of skin exposed between glove and coat cuff, and sensitive to touch. Just like the rest of the older man.

Until the Doctor seems to find a way of doing himself. Slipping off his coat, his shirt, his trousers, until with ease and not a tremble of his hands he can lay his talented fingers on Stone. Swapping cool, hard metal for warm, toned flesh. He'd deny and curse out Stone if he ever said anything about his hesitation. Bite at him. Though he does that anyway in the throes of it all, teeth to Stone’s neck or the top of his shoulders, half to muffle his moans and half to punish Stone as he goes about him. Doing this to him. Dismantling him. Peeling away that protective layer to his human core, only for Stone to replace it with his own protective shield.

He's a monster in these moments too. Glorious in his want. Demanding. Greedy. Attention seeking. Loud. Needy. And Stone encourages him. Let's him take what he wants and Stone gives just as much. 

Having him like no other is addictive. Seeing him like no other a gift. Kissing him languid after the storm until he's calm and the trembling has stopped, the closest he'll ever be to soft. Vulnerable. Satisfied.

And Stone the only one privileged enough to have earned it.


End file.
